


Like I’ll Never Be The Same

by Imagining_Fantasy



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Divorce, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Marriage, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 02:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_Fantasy/pseuds/Imagining_Fantasy
Summary: The story of how Pete proposed was painful for at least five years. After the initial shock wore off, the couple found themselves easily laughing at their stupidity and irrationality.Marriage was everything that Pete thought he’d never have. It was forever. It was real promises. It was security and affirmations and truth. Marriage made it easy to forget how quickly everything can be taken away.





	Like I’ll Never Be The Same

 

 

 

 

The alarm cut through the tranquil silence of the bedroom like a knife. Pete groaned, blindly reaching out and slamming his hand down on top of the clock, effectively nullifying it. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and turned to look at Patrick when he realized his husband was not in his normal resting place. 

 

That was...odd. Patrick never got up before him. The musician almost always stayed at the studio several hours after Pete, absorbed in an idea or melody, brain full of overlapping sounds and instruments. It was equally incredible as it was trying. So the absence of his husband was...definitely abnormal. Pete shook his head. Patrick probably never left the studio in the first place. 

 

He rolled out of bed, throwing on a Thrasher t-shirt, his last clean pair of jeans, and attempted to manipulate his hair into something semi-acceptable. His natural hair was such a hassle. Left unchecked it would start to form thick locks of curls. Patrick sometimes pestered him to let his natural hair grow out, but Pete vividly remembered how well it went the last time. 

 

After about five minutes wrangling his hair it became hopeless, so he settled for putting on a baseball cap. The band was neither touring nor giving interviews, and the studio crew really couldn't care less.

 

He finished getting ready and went downstairs to find that Patrick was not even in the kitchen. He shrugged it off, Patrick didn't warn him about staying overnight at the studio, but he could hardly blame his husband for being so passionate about their work that he forgot to call it in. Pete hummed to himself and began to throw breakfast together. 

 

The house phone rang. The number was a local one, and not likely to be that damn solicitor trying to get them to buy cat food for the thousandth time, so he answered it, tucking the phone between his neck and shoulder. 

 

"Hello?"

 

"Is this Mr. Stump-Wentz?" It was a female voice, as smooth as water over stones. 

 

Huh. That could be either of them. Pete wasn't expecting any calls, let alone to their house phone, so it was probably for Patrick. He grabbed a pad of paper and pen out of the drawer stuffed with too much office material to keep track of so he could take note of the conversation for his husband.

 

"Yes. Speaking?"

 

"This is Vanessa Hugh from Taege Law. We're calling in response to your inquiry about divorce laws in the state of Illinois and opening up a case.” His stomach sank. No..no..this couldn’t be happening.. “We're going to need you to schedule an appointment in order to-"

 

The phone dropped to the ground.

 

Pete's hand was caught midair, frozen as if every atom in his body simultaneously forgot how to move. His stomach turned to ice. The words had travelled through his ears, but his brain refused to convert them to reality. 

 

He might vomit. 

 

Patrick had...Patrick had called a divorce agency. Without telling him. What..what had gone wrong? Two nights before they were cuddling on the couch, barely watching the movie on the television as they drifted asleep from mutual exhaustion. The album was wearing them down to the bone, and both of them needed love and support. 

 

But..this was undeniable, horrible proof. The woman asked for Patrick by name. This wasn't some prank call, switch-up, or solicitor.

 

This was...this was...

 

Pete couldn't breathe. His chest heaved as if all the oxygen in the room had been taken away. His vision spun faster and faster. He slid down to the ground, clutching his chest as it squeezed tighter and tighter. _Divorce_. People joked about how long their marriage would last from the start, but neither of them took it seriously. They were supposed to be the one that lasted. His throat closed. Sobs built up in his chest, ready to spill out until they turned to screams of agony. Silent tears had begun to slide down his cheeks. It was pathetic. 

 

His antagonized brain finally connected the dots: Patrick hadn't told him about the divorce because the band had to finish the album and the tour. The last time personal lives hindered their careers, the hiatus happened. Patrick was doing what was best for the group. Even when Patrick was breaking Pete's heart he did it with brutal sobriety. 

 

He grabbed the phone with hands that barely functioned in hopes of at least getting answers. 

 

"Hello? Hello?" The lady whose voice he already loathed from pure association repeated. 

 

“I'm sorry." Pete shocked himself by how steady he managed to make his voice. "The phone was knocked out of my hand by a, um, yeah. Could you please continue?"

 

"Certainly," she answered, clearly perplexed. "We're going to have to schedule an appointment to further discuss the terms of the agreement. Will both parties be in attendance? I understand this case is highly sensitive and is to be carried out with discretion."

 

Fuck. Pete was right. That little scheming son of a -. No. He couldn't even get worked up. The defeat and mourning had already established itself in his soul. Plus, he could hardly blame Patrick for doing the logical thing to do when...when you don't love the person you're with anymore. 

 

"I'll have to call you back," Pete choked out before he slammed the phone down onto its base.

   

He collapsed into sobs, putting his head into his hands. He wished he could have done anything, something to change Patrick's mind. It was too late now. If Patrick went as far as to call a damn divorce lawyer, then his mind was set. Patrick's stubbornness would hold up with this one, Pete knew it. 

 

The only thing that seemed to formulate into a complete thought was that he was about to lose everything. His friends, his band, his career, and most importantly, his husband. Who was everything. He had lost his world to something that he didn't even know. His eyes had long run out of tears, and at this point his sobs had devolved into gasps of unadulterated suffering and pain. 

 

He did not know how much time had passed when the front door opened. Pete at first thought it was someone from the studio sent to make sure he was even showing up. It was ridiculous. Unfortunately due to the dynamic of the band, Butch usually needed him to show up, if not with lyrics, unless the music would never get done. But it was not Butch or Joe or Andy or anyone he was expecting. It was Patrick. 

 

His husband's tousled ginger hair was nestled under a semi-crushed fedora. Baby blue eyes drowsy behind thick framed glasses. Patrick set down his workbag, slid out of his coat, and threw his hat onto the couch. The man was the most beautiful thing Pete had ever seen in his entire life. Especially now that he knew he would have to let that perfection go. 

 

Pete slid a hand in front of his mouth, trying to compose himself. He was making this way too hard on a man who deserved to be happy, even if that meant leaving him. 

 

"Babe, I'm home!" Patrick called up the stairs. "I worked until five A.M. last night so I basically crashed at the studio for two hours before coming back. Butch said to just take today off, Joe and Andy need the rest too." 

 

Pete pushed his way to his feet, swiping at his eyes and attempting to clear his clogged threat. Apparently it took too long because Patrick called up the stairs again.

 

"Hi," Pete said. He kept his expression blank in fear that it would crumple if he tried to force a smile. 

 

Patrick turned. "Hey! Wait...woah. Are you alright?" His husband furrowed his eyebrows and came up to him, gently grabbing Pete's crossed arms. "Was it a nightmare?" 

 

A couple more pieces of his heart fell apart. Knowing that Patrick could fake concern so easily. That Pete couldn't even separate truth from lies anymore. It made his world tilt on its axis. 

 

Pete looked up into the sky that were Patrick's eyes. 

 

“No.”

 

The darkness that he’d spent years pushing away was creeping back into his voice. Warping it back into that horrible state when he smiled for the cameras and sobbed for his soul. His brain attempted to map out the intricacies of his husband’s face, so that when he was a lonely old man sitting on a park bench he could have one thing to keep going for. 

 

Eyes scorched by tears, he dropped his gaze to the floor, too ashamed of fucking up badly enough to drive the one person who always stayed away. 

 

“No?” Patrick repeated. He could barely hear over the ringing. “Geez, Pete. What the hell happened? Did someone die?”

 

He snorted, bitter. It damn sure felt like it. Don’t think he would down a bottle of Ativan again - they were long past that - but at that moment he very much so wanted to just fade away. 

 

“My rambling is probably what caused this in the first place, so I’ll just get out of your way.” He tried to push his husband aside, but Patrick’s grip was titanium. 

 

“Not happening.” Patrick shook his head, determined. In any other circumstance Pete would’ve spilled his guts right away. The one person he always fell back upon wanted out. God what the hell- “I’m not letting it go until you explain what’s wrong.”

 

He broke; crumbled and collapsed into his husband’s solacing arms. Once again his bones trembled as silent tears streamed down his face, unable to bear his plight. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Pete whimpered, hands clenching the soft fabric of Patrick’s cardigan. “I’m _sorry_ , I’m so sorry. They told me this would happen. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

 

“Y-You didn’t do anything?” Patrick whispered, pulling him into the tightest hug and turning his head so they were making eye contact.

 

Pete recoiled away from his husband’s touch. The sooner he moved away, the sooner he could move on, he lied to himself. As if moving on from Patrick was a possible feat. Any words of logic or ration did not register anymore, lost in the hurricane raging in every area of his mind. 

 

“How is it not my fault?” Pete winced at his own words, petrified of the gut-wrenching truth behind them. 

 

“You have to explain to me how you did anything wrong first, love.” 

 

Just like that, grief transformed into anguish and distress. Memories of vicious exchanges between the two of them before the hiatus reminded him how deeply Patrick could get under his skin. The malicious side of his mind was not intent on complying with that. His vision went red. 

 

He wrenched himself out of Patrick’s arms. “If you wanted me gone you could’ve said it to my fucking face! God, Patrick, you’re always the one preaching about communication and a healthy relationship! Now you go and pull this shit? Unbelievable. I trusted you to not do this to me! You should’ve known better than that. I get it that you don’t want to be around me anymore but there are easier ways to get whatever it is you want, goddamn!”

 

Patrick’s jaw dropped open, pain clear in his perfect eyes. The man’s hands clenched in retaliation but besides that made no move to lash out. “First off, I don’t want you gone. Wherever you got that idea is insane. Second, I don’t know what you think I did, but I’ve been busy at the studio for weeks. You’ve been there with me! I-I..” he huffed, the way he only did when his mind was speeding faster than his mouth could translate. “I don’t want to fight with you, Pete. Please _explain_ to me.”

 

Explain what? The fact that the person he’d dedicated his life to wanted to get away from him behind his back? As if Pete was some kind of abuser who wouldn’t accept divorce. Well...now he was proving Patrick’s point after all. 

 

“I got a phone call earlier,” Pete answered, glaring at the floor tile pattern that they’d picked out together when buying their home, “from a law company. They said you’d called them. About-“ He choked. Cleared his throat. “About divorce.”

 

The air in the room shifted. Toward what, he had no idea. But Patrick’s eyes moved away from pain and then shone with recognition. Pete’s suspicions were confirmed. Of course. He swallowed that bitter little pill earlier, no use in doing it again. That reminder didn’t stop his eyes from misting over. 

 

“I get it,” Pete blurted, lying, trying to make up for his husband’s awful silence, “I think. Well...actually, I don’t. But I figure that you want to go be happy, and I get it. Yeah. Being tied down to a shitty writer would make anyone suffocate. And, y’know, you’re too talented to be stuck with me. Everyone knows that. _I_ know that.” He inhaled shakily. “Um. We can figure out the...details...a-after the record? Or um, I guess..what was your plan?”

 

Patrick rubbed his eyes with heavy exasperation halfway through Pete’s self-sacrificing speech. It did not exactly help. The man took two steps forward and placed his hands on Pete’s shoulders, calloused fingertips digging into his t-shirt. 

 

“Before you unceremoniously passed out last night, I did tell you that my brother needed my help with legal stuff. Did I not?” The man’s voice was gentler than the lightest breeze, as if any stronger and Pete would blow over. “He doesn’t want _his_ divorce talked about at home, so I’m relaying for him. His divorce. Not mine.”

 

Patrick stopped talking, waiting for Pete to absorb the fact that his entire mental breakdown was for...nothing. For nothing. His husband wasn’t leaving him for the sands of the earth to cover him until he’s gone. 

 

The guilt was immediate. How could he expect so little of Patrick? God. All the progress they made together over more than a decade of friendship, for nothing. 

 

“ _Shit_.” He croaked. “Oh my god, _fuck_.”

 

“That’s one way to put it.”

 

“I-I-“ The other man pulled him into another too-tight embrace and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop apologizing, seriously. You had every right to believe what you did.” Patrick lowered his voice to a mumble. “Though...I wish you’d called me first...”

 

“You know I make shitty decisions.” Pete managed a broken smile. 

 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Patrick asked, ever the selfless one in their relationship.

 

“Yeah. I...I think so. I need to calm the fuck down but..yeah. I’ll be fine.”

 

“Alright.” His husband pulled back, eyes both affectionate and exhausted. “I’m going to go back to sleep. Actually...we both probably need some rest...?”

 

“Good idea.” Pete ran a hand down his face. 

 

The ringing in his ears had long faded into the background. Coming down from an anxiety attack was never a comfortable thing. Your body was still on edge, ready to jump or fall apart at any moment, while your mind was trying to wind down. Two opposing forces aimed at each other, war and peace, love and hate, black and white. He exhaled. Breathed in the peacetime air. Let the two forces dissipate until there was only himself and Patrick. That’s all he needed, anyway. 


End file.
